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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29863137">stealing home plate</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/irlpinkiepie/pseuds/irlpinkiepie'>irlpinkiepie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Blaseball (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Ohio Worms (Blaseball Team), canon is fake but gdirt is real, stayed up until 5am writing this instead of sleeping and it was worth it</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 01:00:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,860</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29863137</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/irlpinkiepie/pseuds/irlpinkiepie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone finds where they're meant to be eventually, and for Huber, that place is closer that he'd like to think.</p>
<p>(written with very fuzzy canon so idk if any of these characters will still exist like this in a week but hey it's the thought that counts)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>stealing home plate</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's a cold and early November morning in western Ohio, and Huber Frumple is hammering a sign into the dirt on the side of I-75.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When he volunteered to be a part-time intern for the local museum, he expected it'd be just… normal science museum things? Looking after exhibits, giving people tours, maybe getting to manage the displays if he was lucky. And sure, there was some of that, but sometimes it was 'clean up this mess in the bathroom', or 'design and make this informational display for us the same week you have three essays due', or even 'drive out at 6 a.m. and put up these signs so tourists come and visit'. Huber only just barely got his license, and technically driving this young on your own is illegal, but he wasn't going to pass up an opportunity to learn and teach others so much about the science and history of aeronautics - he just wished that there was less busywork, and a lot fewer Worms.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Standing a few feet back to get a look at it, he reaches up to his orange head, adjust his glasses, and checks the lettering:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>THIS WEEK ONLY<br/><b>ILB CHAMPIONSHIP CELEBRATION<br/></b>COME WISH THE WORMS FAREWELL<br/>ASW MUSEUM OFF EXIT 111</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> Good enough, </em> he thinks, as he gets back in his car and drives back home, the signpost rattling in the wind behind him.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>When the day finally comes, about a week later, Huber's sitting on the floor in the corner of the display room, flicking through social media accounts, his green head occasionally glancing up at the team. He didn't even have to be here, they didn't have him scheduled for today, but something in his gut told him he'd miss out if he didn't at least go and check it out - and it's not like there's anything good on TV he was missing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It isn't even a good press conference, at least not in his opinion: all the blaseball players are wearing these unwieldy jumpsuits over their uniforms, and none of the questions make any sense at all. Huber wasn't much of a splorts fan, but he figured the sorts of questions you'd get after winning a championship would be about the game, or next season. Instead, all they're asking about is family, loved ones, how it feels to "ascend"; it almost feels like a funeral more than a celebration.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He's almost on his way out the door, giving up on the whole affair on account of boredom, when one of the players stops him in his tracks with a "Hey, kid, how's it goin'?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Huber's orange head is having no part of this, but his green head cautiously inspects them - a tall person with black, curly hair, wearing one of those awful jumpsuits, and what looks like a pair of white gloves, too? <em> This guy knows we have central heating, right? </em> he thinks to himself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Uh." <em> We can't not reply, right? </em> "Bored, mostly." <em> You sure? I seem to be managing it just fine. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>The response he gets is a jarringly loud laugh. "You kidding? Last chance to see your hometown team, and you're getting bored and walking out?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Listen, uh…"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Ephraim," they reply, "Ephraim Ladd. But there's no need to be formal, not now."</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> What the heck is happening? </em>, Huber thinks, before starting again: "Listen, Ephraim, I'm sure you did your splorts really good, but I don't… really care about blaseball. I just work here."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You work for a blaseball museum and don't care about it? Times must be tougher for teenagers these days."</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> It's not worth it, </em> his orange head thinks, but he presses on regardless. "It's an air and space museum. I like science."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>At that, Ephraim's face lights up with an even bigger smile, and they turn towards the doorway and gesture in Huber's direction. "Come, follow me, then; you'll like this part."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Huber's not sure what's going on exactly, but he figures it can't be any worse than refreshing his phone every twenty seconds until the conference is over, and puts his phone in his back pocket as he follows out the front door.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>The museum grounds <em> definitely </em> didn't use to have this many tunnels.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"We're Worms. Good at digging," was all Ephraim had to say on the matter, before going silent again and continuing down the path, leaving Huber to follow and wonder.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"So," his orange head chimes in, "what's with the suit? Uniform not good enough?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Step. Step.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You guys moving to another town or something? Fans can't cheer for you if you're in Portland?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Step. Step. Step.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Pretty rude of you to bring me all the way down here and not even say why, y'know. You're not gonna murder me, are y--"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"We're here," they say, and Huber sees the spaceship, and everything clicks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It's all he can do to not stare until his eyes hurt at every detail of the ship, the thruster exhausts and the tungsten siding and the fin design were all so impeccably made, and he doesn't know how to process his feelings about any of this. This is <em> incredible! </em> He got to meet a <em> real </em> astronaut! <em> Wait, why is an astronaut playing for the Ohio Worms? </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ephraim stares up at the hole in the ground and lets out a sigh, their sudden melancholy snapping Huber back to attention. "Is everything alright?" his orange head asks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They shake their head, and reply: "It's been sixty years since the last ascension, so I doubt you'd've heard about it; I sure didn't when I was your age. But when a team wins three titles, that's it; they've gotta go."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Not much you can say to that, I think. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Blaseball is forever, after all, and I knew we couldn't be bad forever; I joined this team because I wanted to turn us around, make us great, reach for the stars… and I guess I got my wish." They look back in his direction, and Huber can see tears welling up in their eyes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Huber lifts a shaky hand up to his shoulder. "…Why tell me this? Why not the reporters, or your teammates, or your family?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Because I don't want my last words on this Earth to be some public sobfest," they snap. "I want to be part of something greater, rage against the dying light. And that means while the rest of your team are off saying their goodbyes, you head down to the ship and you start the launch program, you get ready to leave everyone and everything you love behind, and you be the one your team can look up to because if you don't, who else will?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ephraim wipes the sleeve of their spacesuit over their face before turning around and heading towards the spaceship.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Wait," Huber's green head says, stopping them with their hand on the door latch. "I, uh…"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They stare at him, still trying to hold back tears.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Sounds pretty hard being looked up to. Spend too much time in the sky, you get to miss the ground. But it's still there, if you've got people who can pull you down."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ephraim takes a moment to process that, then sits down on the steps leading up to the ship door. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I certainly don't think you're leaving <em> everyone </em> you care about behind, after all," his orange head adds. "You're a team, aren't you?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They give a couple quick nods, even more tears welling up now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Anyway, uh… I should probably get back to the museum. See ya."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It's difficult to hear over the sound of his own footsteps, but it feels like Ephraim replied: "I'll be seeing you too."</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>It's been a year since the launch, and Huber is trying to focus on his calculus homework, but he can't help his mind wandering back to that very strange afternoon.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He didn't even see the rocket launch - it happened in the middle of the night, he was told, so that they wouldn't get interrupted by overzealous fans - but something about it stuck with him. He hasn't had a conversation that emotional… actually, with just about anyone, now that he thinks about it. And it was just with a random splorts player he'll never meet again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>On a whim, he pulls out his laptop and does a quick search for the Ohio Worms, and finds out that Ephraim Ladd's rookie year was the team's first championship win.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Five years since the launch. One degree in education and aerospace engineering later, and Huber is back at the Air, Space, and Worms museum full-time. There was no way he was leaving home for long, after all; Columbus was nice and all, but Wapakoneta was always going to be for him, as much as his parents pushed him to get something higher-paid with his degree.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Huber didn't care about the money, though. He wanted to teach people, to connect with them, and to give them the stars to reach for, and the museum paid just fine.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>One day, he passes by Ephraim's memorial board, and really reads it for the first time. There's a quote near the bottom he can't help but pay attention to: they talk about joining the team like a homecoming, as though it was always what they were meant to do. "It just took me some time," it reads, "to discover that it was my destiny."</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Ten years after the launch. Huber Frumple resolves himself to learn to play Blaseball.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>It's a cold and early September morning in western Ohio, and Huber Frumple is raking the infield at the museum ballpark when he hears a rumble from up above.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The spaceship lands in center field, slowly extends its exit stairs, and Huber watches as the door opens and an astronaut with a tinted glass helmet steps out and turns towards him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You're…" There's something about that voice, it sounds so familiar, but those memories are fuzzy and decades old by now. But wait–</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Ephraim Ladd?" Huber's orange head asks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Glad you stuck around, kid; was thinking I'd never get the chance to thank you."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I'm in my fifties, you know," his green head retorts, which is only met by a chuckle from behind the helmet - and then Ephraim reaches up and removes it and all that's visible underneath is a gently glowing halo and an empty spacesuit.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"People change. Blaseball is forever." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You know," Huber replies, "I think I understand what you meant by that now." The other members of the Worms are filtering back out of the ship behind them, taking off their own helmets and staring curiously at this unlikely reunion.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You know, we ended up losing Rocio our last season, and we could use a replacement player; I take it you can do more than sweep these fields. You game?" Ephraim offers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"If I didn't know any better, I would have said it was my destiny," Huber's orange head answers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Once a Worm, always a Worm," comes the reply.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Was I ever a Worm?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Do you want to be?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Huber looks on at his new team, beaming with pride, and nods both his heads in unison.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Huber Frumple," he says. "Let's play ball."</p>
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